


I am (not) Crazy.

by yzmxguchi



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Bisexual Character, Boys In Love, Break Up, Death, Drama, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Fluff, Fights, Gay, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, High School, M/M, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Murder, POV First Person, Schizophrenia, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, did I mention violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2020-11-26 15:38:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20932622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yzmxguchi/pseuds/yzmxguchi
Summary: Eric Cartman; The most dangerous kid known to live in the town of South Park. People whisper about him doing wack shit, but he's not crazy.Heis notcrazy.Nobody believes him.So, maybe? Maybe they're right. Maybe heiscrazy. Maybe the only person he really is crazy for isKyle.





	1. Eric Cartman

**Author's Note:**

> This story is not a happy and romantic story. It is more sad and disturbing, so if that's not what you're looking into, I recommend you don't read it. Warnings will be added to the beginning of each chapter, as well.

I _promise_ you. I swear to everything good and holy in this horrible, merciless world: I am not crazy. Far from it. I am a normal, sane person. Just with a few flaws in my code. 

I tell myself those words everyday in an attempt to make myself feel better. So why doesn't anyone believe me? I try my best to be normal. Actually, I prefer to stand out against a crowd, but that doesn't mean I'm not normal. 

Just because I've fantasized about torturing each of my classmates, does not mean I am crazy. I am normal. I have decent friends, I feel most emotions, and I live a good life. 

I think. 

A good life may be an understatement. After all, I am Eric Cartman.

Unsurprisingly, everyone at school is terrified of me. I'll walk down the corridors at school and all I will see is a bundle of cowardly teenagers rushing to get out of my way. It ticks me off to the point of almost bashing each of their heads into the wall until they got the message. 

I laughed at the thought. Could you imagine? The genuine fear on everyone's faces as I slammed someone's skull into the wall in the middle of the hallway, crystal clear for everyone to see. 

I sighed, frustrated with myself for laughing about scenarios in my mind about harming people. But if I was being honest, I'm not afraid of my head. I knew I had a limit to every thought that I'd receive. It wasn't like I was going to act upon my urges, because I at least have a little bit of self control. Sometimes I worry, but it's nothing I couldn't handle. 

Now straying away from those gross thoughts—I hate school. To the point of dreading the weekdays when I have to get up and drag myself to my feet, spitting a string of curse words as I do so. School is literal _hell_, and I don't think I've ever learned anything even remotely interesting. 

Despite my thouthts, that is where I am now. I was struggling to wake myself up as I wander sluggishly around my messy room, my eyelids heavy. I was surprised I couldn't find anything to wear, because everything was scattered around my feet and on clear display to pick something. I stalked over to my closet, ripping the door open. I heard a snap, guessing I'd broken a piece off of the wood. That sucks, though I don't really care at all. Mom can fix it later. 

I smiled slightly when I saw my favorite dark red hoodie lying in the corner. It was my favorite is because it was a very similar color to fresh blood, which, to no surprise, is very aesthetically pleasing to my eyes. My favorite color, I suppose. 

Just a reminder: I am not crazy. 

I quickly grabbed it, tugging it over my body. I didn't bother to change the shirt I'd slept in, because it's not like anyone was going to see it. I then slipped on a random pair of pants that I'd found, making sure they smelled clean. I really didn't care about my appearance, because everyone was afraid of me anyway. I scare them away, so nobody pays attention. I'll always appear the same to them, no matter how I decide to look. 

I ruffled up my hair a bit, groaning how long it'd grown in the past year. It was below my ears, and liked to stick up in all different directions. I really needed to get it cut because I had always hated the feeling of my hair tickling my ears. It was especially annoying when it wouldn't settle down flat, and then I look like a hobo. Not my idea of fashion, that's for sure. I'd have to ask my mom to get it cut soon, I noted. 

After I'd altered my appearance to the way I liked, I grabbed my phone and stuffed my charger into my backpack. I turned on the device in my hands, sighing as I had one notification only. It was from Kenny, only informing me that he'd be a bit sluggish today—which I didn't think too much on. He's one of the few people who actually acknowledges my existence—besides Kyle, but of course the Jew still does. He's too nice like that. Either way, they both get ripped on for being my friend. Stan does, too, but it's rare that I ever talk to him.

I quickly marked the text as read before slipping my phone into my pocket, rubbing my eyes. I walked out of my room and slammed the door louder than was necessary, but I didn't even bother to flinch. It alerted my mom that I was awake, though. 

Speaking of which, I ignored my her as I made my way downstairs. I walked right past the kitchen and out the front door, ignoring her soft words. I didn't talk to her much these days. When I did, it was always to either spoil me or talk to me about my grades. Which, I shall say, are all A's. I work really hard in school, surprisingly. That's one benefit coming from being ignored all the time, because there's nothing to distract me. Nobody has been able to beat some of the scores I've gotten on tests, usually getting very close to full credit on all of them. 

Except for Kyle, of course. Fucking Jew. He's the main frustration of my day, but not in a bad way. I won't go into detail, but it's easier to say that I don't hate the redhead as much as I'd like to admit. Something changed in the span of seven years. I couldn't place my finger on it, but it had definitely occurred. But Kyle's ability to outsmart me helps me in the long-run. Sure, it was difficult having competition, but it made the challenges a bit more interesting, at least. 

Anyway, I had decided to be difficult and walk to school today. I didn't want to wait ten minutes for the bus to arrive, so instead I wandered off slowly towards the location that I hated the most. The air was bitter and uncomfortable, but it wasn't anything I wasn't used to. It was mid-October, so there were light patches of snow every few feet, and the breeze was thick with cold air. Sometimes it was nice, but most of the time it was painful. I narrowed my eyes as I walked, and I was actually surprised that my mind was blank most of the way. It was peaceful, almost. I missed being a careless kid walking the streets, but my innocence had been ripped away from me many years back. At least I didn't have to worry about that thought too long, because it left my head pretty quickly. The silence succumbed me once again, and I sighed calmly. 

That was, until I spotted sight of Heidi leaving the safety of her home. She quickly jumped into her ugly, dark green car. It was hideous, really. I couldn't believe she actually loved that thing. That wasn't the problem at the moment, though. The problem was that I glared daggers at her, feeling my body and mind unravel by themselves. It was never a comfortable feeling, but I'd gotten far more than used to it by now. 

I grinned, wondering how it would feel to watch the life drain from her pathetically bitchy eyes. I would love to see her buried in a casket and then thrown to the brutal depths of the Earth's soil, where everyone would go on living and the only person who would _really_ suffer would be Heidi herself. Then, she'd be forgotten and left to rot for the rest of eternity. 

I laughed to myself, rubbing my hands together. I wondered if I would ever live to experience that moment. I hated to wish that I actually wanted to, but at the same time, I was very satisfied with that thought. There were alot of people that I wished death upon, but Heidi was on the top of my list. Along with a few others, but those are details for later. 

See, the reason for my homicidal thoughts of my most of my classmates is because all I see when I look at them is the worst thing that they could have possibly done to me. Then, I use my rage against them and create scenarios that will never come true. Believe me when I say that, because there's no way I'm going to willingly murder someone. Not in a million years, that's for sure. 

I grunted, shuffling my feet awkwardly as I payed close attention to the way Heidi started her car and eventually sped off in the opposite direction. I stood and listened to the rattling of the engine until the sound had faded to leave behind a quiet ringing. She was probably on her way to pick up all her friends to give them a ride, because she just _loves_ to show off her beautiful car. 

After she was gone and out of my thoughts, I continued on my trek. There might be questions about what Heidi did to me. In fourth grade, I was definitely a huge dick to her. I deserved what I got. But that doesn't mean it was okay, and when I treated her like shit—I was just a kid. 

Cut to the story. It was back in seventh grade when it happened. I was giving a speech to the whole school, like usual—something about animal abuse, I think—and that little whore decided to sneak off to the office when nobody was paying attention to her. When I heard the beep of the announcements in the middle of speaking, I was very clearly confused. 

My confusion had turned to fear quicker than I had ever imagined, and as soon as I heard the annoying laugh of Heidi, I had frozen in place—almost dropping the mic. It was one of my tapes from the year before—in sixth grade—and I had been sitting in my room playing with my stuffed dolls. That cocky bitch had played through the full recording of me, talking and interacting with inanimate objects. It was so fucking _embarassing_. Who could've guessed, Cartman being embarrassed? Spoiler alert, it is a possibility. Mainly because that was my biggest secret, and that fat, ugly-ass bitch had to go and leak it to the _whole fucking school._

After that happened, I was furious. Beyond that, even. Nobody had understood my rage, even if I explained it to them. They were all laughing at my humiliation. They enjoyed the tears welling in my eyes, and nobody even _attempted_ to get her to shut up. Not even the teachers. _Nobody_ had understood how extremely painful that moment was. 

Except for the _fucking_ Jew. 

I'm not getting into details, because he doesn't deserve that kind of recognition. Let's just say he was a fucking idiot and I've never been able to understand why he cared enough to act how he did. 

Back to Heidi. She had humiliated me to the point of tears—four years ago—and even now, I can't shake the feeling of complete horror that had striked me at that moment. I had completed _destroyed_ my toys after that happened. I tore them apart, burnt them, soaked them in water. _All of it,_ just so I didn't have to bare the pain ever again. And so nobody had evidence that I had the toys to play with in the first place. That was probably the most painful experience I had to live through, and I never, ever wanted to go through that again.

And that was one of the first things that sparked my rage at the time. It had all started in seventh grade. I've been able to control myself for four years after that, so its not like I'm going to attack anyone anytime soon. Unless they trigger me, but everybody knows not to mess with me. 

I snapped back into reality, finding myself taking the path up to the school. I must've spaced out and kept walking the remaining miles to my destination. I don't remember doing that, but there's no other explanation of how I got here. I shrugged and approached the doors. 

I watched as everyone around me backed away, leaving a safe distance between us. If I was being honest, it kind of hurt. Being avoided like the plague. The only person who'd ever talk to me these days were Kyle. Stan and Kenny do, too, but only if they're not sucking each others faces off. Those two homosexuals are dating, but that's no surprise. They have been goggling over each other for two years now. I swear that they're soulmates, because they fit together in a way that is disturbingly intriguing. They've never had a fight—_ever_—and they treat each other just like royalty. 

I cringed at myself, hating that I thought so much about a gay couple. I didn't have anything against them, but things definitely got way out of hand sometimes. I'm always there to see it, so it feels like I've experienced everything first-hand. It's always been just my luck to have to deal with their constant flirting, or how it seemed physically impossible for them to separate. Hell, I've walked in on the two sucking each other off. In _my own_ room, too. They were so busy with it that they hadn't noticed me walk in until after they had finished, and I hate that I can still remember the look of embarrassment on Stans face, and the look of smugness on Kennys. 

I made a face as I entered the building, mentally punching my brain for bringing that image into my mind again. I allowed my eyes to adjust to the dull lighting of the corridors, feeling like a ghost floating through the halls. I wasn't surprised to make eye contact with a certain twitchy blonde and have him scurry off like a startled animal. I let out a sigh, cursing Tweek silently. He was a bitch, and he's probably the one person in this school that could have an actual _diagnosed_ fear of me. 

I was distracted and only a few steps inside when someone grabbed me from behind, startling me. I clenched my fists, reacting on defense and spinning around to sock—whoever it was—is the face. I cringed when I felt my knuckles collide roughly with warm skin, so I shoved the body away and found my hands to be back at my sides before I could think twice. 

"What the actual fucking fuck, dude." I heard a voice call out, their tone high-pitched and annoying. I rolled my eyes, and guessed that the best people had to possess the worst voices possible.

"Well, maybe if you didn't sneak up on me like that, jackass." I growled in reply, turning to face the one-and-only: Kyle Broflovski. He was glaring at me with a noticeably red mark on his cheek, which—after a long moment of observing—I realized I didn't really feel bad for. He knew damn well I was horrible with scares, and he did it anyway. He had no reason to complain about it. 

"Chill. I didn't mean to. What crawled up your ass and died?" Kyle questioned, his words filled with annoyance. Of course the redhead was already riled up—it never took much.

I simply rolled my eyes and turned away, stalking down the hallway. I knew he would follow me, so I didn't hesitate to respond as I did so. "Nothing. Fuck off." 

Kyle had caught up to me shockingly fast, and once he was close enough, he punched me in the shoulder. Decently hard, may I add. I might have deserved that. "Stop being bitch." he said sternly, though it came out more as a growl. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and gave me a curious look, and I had the urge to completely ignore him for the rest of the day. 

On top of my frustration, Kyle and I had to have been assigned with lockers right next to each other. It was easy on us both, because then we didn't have to wander the halls going from one locker to the next, but it also sucked ass from time to time. 

I ignored Kyle the rest of the time we were next to each other, and clicked my locker open. I shoved my backpack inside, slamming the door shut afterwards. I didn't even bother to grab my books for class, because I already knew almost all of what we were learning in most of my classes, anyway. Sometimes it seemed worthless for me to even come to school anymore, but I guess some people actually needed to complete highschool and college to get good-paying jobs.

All too suddenly, my own thoughts were cut short by the voice of a very concerned Kyle, who had turned around while waiting for me. "Kenny?" 

I wasn't shocked to turn around and see the blonde quickly walking down the halls towards us. I didn't notice Kenny with a red face and tear-stained cheeks until he was closer, and I cringed at the sight. Thing was, Kenny McCormick _never_ cries. Not even when he broke his neck the time when I had pushed him off of a three-story roof, and he had bounced right back up on his feet. That was an accident, by the way. I didn't mean to _actually_ shove him, but he got in my way. 

Besides that point, I saw a type of worry in Kyle's eyes that I never knew existed before. The redheaded Jew literally _flew_ across the hall and wrapped Kenny in a very tight hug, and I could sense the radiating homosexuals even from how far away I was standing. 

"What the fuck happened, dude?" I heard Kyle say as I drew closer to the pair. I didn't know how to help the situation, but I didn't have a problem minding my own business. I was never a good person to deal with negative emotions, anyway. That's how bad things happened—and I wasn't in the mood for that today. 

"It's Stan." Kenny said groggily, wiping at his eyes. He'd started crying again—though softly—in which I had just rolled my eyes at. 

"What about him? What happened?" Kyle asked, but it only seemed to create bigger conflict. I sighed, taking a step forward and flicking him in the side of the head.

"Kyle, don't be so fucking impatient. You're not helping." I snapped, feeling my anger rise in my chest. I was also starting to feel overwhelmed, because I have always hated when people cried, and my best friends were no exception to that hatred. 

"Shut up, fatass." He mumbled, though nothing about his words seemed to be aggressive. 

"Stan yelled at me. He's never done that before. You guys, of all people, should know that. And yet I just–wake up to glass shattering to see that he'd broken into my room. He was drunk. I could tell. I didn't.. I couldn't—" Kenny tried explaining, but he started hyperventilating, and I knew this wouldn't end well. I just let out a groan, signaling my time to leave. I cringed as I heard the bell ring, the sound leaving behind a buzzing in all of our ears. I just shook my head, looking at Kyle.

Kyle seemed to know what I was trying to infer, so he left me alone and walked Kenny down to the nurses office so he could help him calm down before second period. I knew Kyle would complain about missing a significant amount of class later, but that's to deal with when the time comes. 

After leaving the drama behind me, I decided to take my time getting to class. In fact, I seemed to wander. I looked down the halls, allowing my body to consume the silence. After a while, I had finally made it to class; 15 minutes late. 

That was okay, though, because it appeared that nobody had noticed my absence. Just how it always was. I was still a lifeless soul, wandered the emptiness of the Earth until I dissolved into nothing but a memory. Or—until I faded into quite literally nothing. 

I let out a yawn, resting my head against the cold surface of my desk. I already knew that today was going to be a _really_ long fucking day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New story, and I'm very excited for this one. I'm more passionate about this one, because Cartman is my favorite character and I kind of understand his character more than any of the others. 
> 
> Anyways, updates might be slow because I have a pretty busy life. 
> 
> This will be a project that I complete and (hopefully) enjoy. And I hope you do as well :)


	2. Stan Marsh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS!  
-violence  
-death  
-do not read if you are sensitive to dark themes

As I expected, today was dragging on terribly long. It was slow and painful, and I felt like walking out of class more than once.

I shook my head slightly, feeling my limbs start to numb. I ignored the feeling and listened to the chattering around me, barely paying attention to the teens around me that talked with so much enthusiasm. It was quite annoying, so I found myself rushing to walk to the cafeteria. My stomach growled in obvious hunger, reminding me that I didn't have anything to eat for breakfast that morning. Either way, I was glad to get a break from class and have a bit of time to fill my—currently empty—stomach. 

Kyle seemed to spot me as soon as I stepped foot through the doors, because he appeared at my side before I had the time to blink. I glanced over at him curiously, and then he grabbed my sleeve and thought it was a great idea to drag me all the way to a table in the far corner. I hadn't even gotten my food yet, so I was slightly pissed off. I crossed my arms as he sat down, and I could tell he was annoyed that I didn't sit down as well. He was staring at me with those wide, emerald green eyes. It made my chest tighten, and I had to distract myself before it got worse. 

"Quit looking at me like that. What the fuck do you want?" I decided to question, feeling my frustration levels rise. My patience was slowly flickering out, and the silence from the other didn't seem to help. 

"Seriously? You're not going to start blabbering about the incident this morning? 'Kinny is such a big crybaby'." Kyle mocked, staring right at me as he did so. He did not just fucking mock me.

I fumed, plopping down on the seat with a noticeable thump. I tried not to notice how Kyle flinched—_hard_—and I wondered if he was now afraid of me, too. Just like everybody else in this god damned school, I thought bitterly. Somehow my heart lurched at that thought. 

I didn't want to accept the assumption that I had made, but I couldn't help but want to find out if Kyle really was afraid of his own _friend_. I quickly lifted a fist, and the look in Kyle's eyes faded to one of fear as he flinched away again. I grimaced, my mind and body deciding to shut down for a long moment. Once I had my answer, I stood up and stared down at the redhead. He blinked up at me innocently, and I so badly wanted to give in. I didn't, and instead just shook my head and walked away. "Fuck you too, Jewboy." I muttered, ignoring the way my soul seemed to shatter. At the moment, I didn't care about eating lunch. My appetite was completely gone now, taken away along with my trust for Kyle. 

At this point, I could care less about what happened this morning with Kenny. 

The only thing I cared about was the fact that one of the only people I'd ever learned to trust was actually afraid of me. Genuinely terrified, by what I saw. 

I fought back the urge to scream and throw a complete tantrum. I felt like an angry child, getting my toy taken from me after I'd threatened to throw it at another kid. I wanted to punch something _so fucking bad_. 

Instead, I shoved my way to the front doors. I was so pissed off at myself and everyone else, that I didn't want to be in school anymore. I figured skipping two classes wouldn't affect my grades enough, anyway. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to sob into my pillow, wishing I knew when everything had gone wrong to make my life a living hell. I'd never felt so emotional in my life. 

After exiting into the bitter cold, everything seemed to fade away into a distant feeling of numbness as I walked. I wondered how Kyle would feel if I simply dropped him. Would he even care? It would mean freedom from a constant fear, surely. Even if Kyle has acted nice, I wouldn't be surprised if it was all just an act to make himself feel better. He was that kind of person—I would know first-handedly. He was always the kid who would be nice to anyone, even if they were a huge asshole like me. I kind of admired that, because I couldn't imagine the amount of grief he must receive for being friends with someone as terrible as _me_. I could only guess.

While I was distracted, I slipped on a patch of ice and almost fell onto my ass. I let out a grunt as I regained my balance, taking a deep breath as my heart rate accelerated. I wondered how close I was to a concussion, and I was slightly relieved that I hadn't actually fallen. 

After that, I walked slowly the rest of the way to my house, noticing how my body seemed to stiffen with every step that I took. It was exhausting, and it almost caused me to give up entirely and just lie down in a strangers yard, allowing the snow to seep into my clothes. Luckily I had more control than that, and managed to make it home safely. 

My mom would most likely give me a stern talking to if I she knew I'd gotten home early, so I snuck to the backside of the house, eyeing my bedroom window. There was a ladder covered with snow right below the window, mainly because it's not the first time I've had to sneak back in or outside. I brushed the snow off of the object and picked it up, leaning it against the side of the house. I made sure it was steady before hesitantly crawling upwards, letting out a few groans of annoyance when the latter shook even just a little bit. 

I had almost lost my balance when I had reached the top, because I had to shove my window with a pretty hard amount of force to get it open. But, thankfully, my arms reacted on their own and caught against the sill before I could plummet down the ten-some foot drop. 

Once I raised myself inside safely, I immediately shoved the ladder and watched as it dropped down to the ground with a thump. I shut my window carefully, letting out a yawn, and running a hand through my hair before I froze and stared at the figure lying on my bed.

What I saw was a tall, muscular, black-haired male with darkened blue eyes and a reddened face. He was wearing a dark blue t-shirt with black jeans. He wasn't wearing a coat, and his hair was all messed up—sticking up in all directions. I stared for a long time, before opening my mouth to say something. 

"What the fuck." 

I almost called for my mom, but I rethought that choice with a bitter growl. I was very curious as to why Stan _fucking_ Marsh was sitting on my bed, seeming to be completely wasted out of his mind. 

"Huh? Oh, I thought this was my room. Oops." Stan blurted out his response, his voice ringing in my ears. I was so blinded by rage that I could barely think straight. I wanted to come home to get _away_ from certain people, not to spend more time with them. 

I took a deep breath, clenching my fists. "Obviously that's not the _real_ reason. Why the fuck are you here? In _my_ fucking bed?" I demanded, because Stan was one of the people who never came around me unless he had a good reason to. It's not like he'd look to me for some kind of support, because it's obvious I wouldn't share any, and Stan was the one friend out of my group that I trusted the least. 

"Righhht. I just wanted to chat a bit." The boy slurred, and he sat up slowly with his eyes dazed and his lips curled into a lazy smirk. I knew he had something up his sleeve, but I couldn't tell what. He was the silent but deadly type, and it was hard to read him most of the time. He also had the ability to bite. Hard. I was a bit startled to find myself swallowing a mouthful of saliva, but not in the way most people would. It was more from anger than fear, or so I hoped. Stan wasn't a weak guy, and I knew I wouldn't even stand a chance if shit went down. 

"You better start spewing your words in less than ten seconds or else you won't have a mouth to do so." I threatened, my eyes narrowing to slits. Sure, Stan was my _friend_, but he was still annoying as fuck. He was so popular that he got fucking _high fives_ everytime he walked down the hallway. 

That's something I envy, by the way. 

"Okay, okay, fine." Stan sighed, and I could just imagine his sober self pinching the bridge of his nose. "I broke up with Kenny last night, because I saw him with another girl. Then I got drunk and returned this morning to yell at him for something I did, but he yelled back, so I threw him under the bus. I'm still pretty pissed off at him, because he's an asshole." Stan averted his gaze to his hands once he'd finished talking. His voice was obnoxiously loud, and I felt the need to put on ear muffs to block out some of the noise. 

"After that, I decided to fuck _you_ over, too. Because, you know, I'm not really a fan of you."

I bit my tongue, blinking the pain away. I didn't know what was worse—having one of your friends say they aren't a fan of you, or knowing they fucked you over. I refused to act hurt, and yet it still seemed to sting my heart. Despite just admitting that the noirette was annoying as fuck, I still thought he enjoyed hanging around me. I guess nothing ever changed.

"Long story short, Kyle is an idiot. Especially because he's friends with _you_. So, I might have told a few lies about you.. Just so he'd be afraid of you, too." Stan actually fucking giggled. 

I felt my body freeze. I didn't expect him to go _that_ far. 

In fact, I didn't even expect him to admit what he'd done. Stan was honestly so _fucking_ retarded. He had a big mouth and a thin skull—which was never a good combination—and I now knew that would get him killed someday. 

My lips twitched into a devilish smirk, but I forced my expression down to a poker face. I noticed how my brain swam with possibilities of brutality, but I wasn't afraid this time. Funny how fast your feelings towards someone could change, wasn't it? It was so funny that I could laugh, but I didn't want to startle my current target. 

I was allowing the violence to flow through my veins. In approximately 15 seconds, I'd created a perfect plan in my head, which, for once, I wasn't going to ignore. I was going to drag out with my urges. Stan ruined me. He crushed my trust with Kyle, and he made me believe that my own crush had turned his back on me. Stan had hurt me before, but this time he had crossed the line. He took a full fucking _leap_ across it. 

Stan stared at me, unblinking, for what felt like eternity. I was surprised when he suddenly stared down at his hands again, and his eyes drooped slowly. He seemed exhausted, and I decided that was a perfect opportunity to do what I needed to do. 

"We can talk about this later. You seriously need rest to get rid of the alcohol in your system." I faked my empathy, slowly approaching Stan and pushing him back onto my bed. I wanted to strangle him right at that moment, but I didn't want to rush things.

"Yeah, okay. G'night." Stan murmured with no ounce of suspicion, and it wasn't long before I heard his breathing slow peacefully. 

He was asleep. 

So far, the plan was running just smoothly. 

——

Later that evening, I found myself feeling obnoxiously bored while listing to Stans annoying snores. I kept getting the urge to chop his ugly head off with an axe, but I didn't want to get his dirty hippie blood all over my blankets and pillows. Plus, that would fuck up my whole plan.

After staring at my ceiling for what felt like eternity, I'd fallen asleep. I was succumbed by the darkness and the absence of sound, allowing myself a bit of peace. 

But not for long. I was awoken at 4am by an unholy sound of alarm, right next to my ear. 

Stan. 

I let out a growl and opened my eyes, rubbing them tiredly. I squinted my eyes at the other boy, and he was staring at me with an expression that _almost_ looked like one of a startled puppy. I forced myself not to laugh—it would break character. 

"Wh—Cartman?? What am I doing here? In _your_ bed?" he asked frantically, reminding me almost of something similar to a panicked Tweek. The resemblance was there, at least. Wide eyes, fidgety hands, and anxious stuttering. 

"Oh, you don't remember? I'm wounded, Stan. We obviously fucked."

Stan froze. I had to hold back another laugh. This was all way too much fun, really. The fact that Marsh was probably the most terrified of me—after Tweek—than anyone else who knew me definitely made it even more enjoyable. 

"What the fuck!" Stan screeched, lifting up the covers to check that his clothes were still on, and I finally barked out my laughter. It was loud and painfully bitter, and it had made Stan freeze where he was. 

"I'm messing around, shithead. I wouldn't fuck your hippie ass anyway." I quipped, and Stan seemed to relax a bit. 

Not for long. 

"But, you did expose yourself to me. A few secrets, am I right?" I pressed, and Stan had instantly frozen up once again. It was hilarious—teasing him in such a cruel way. 

"Uh—What secrets, exactly?" He spoke slowly, and with obvious caution. 

I had to shift my gaze so that I didn't lose myself to my fantasies. "Nothing big. Just that you told Kyle how dangerous I was so he would stay away from me. Is that right?" I asked with a bitter-sweet tone. 

I heard a pause. He was scared, I assumed. So far, so good. 

"What if I said I—never.. did that?" Stan questioned, his voice shaking and almost cracking like a child going through puberty. I knew he was trying to act confident in himself, but luckily I could see right through his ugly lies. 

"I wouldn't believe you. Because when I say _wasted_, I mean that you couldn't have lied if your life depended on it. Which, now that I think about it, really could have." 

"Please—I swear I didn't mean to, really. It just kind of slipped, because I was being honest with my best friend, and you know how that gets. You kind of say stuff you don't mean to, and—"

I cut him off with a cold stare, which he'd caught sight of and he had actually fallen silent. I noticed how his hands were shaking even worse now. It hurt to know how scared he actually was, all because of me, but it was also fun. 

_Really_ fun. 

**But you're not crazy.**

"Okay, shut the fuck up. I don't care about your gay confessions." I growled, my face transforming into one of pure annoyance, and Stan seemed to get the message.

"You understand, right? I'm really sorry if anything happened between you two. I mean—I have nothing against you, Cartman. You're a great guy, surely. You just scare me a little bit, that's all." Stan attempted to speak again, but his voice had finally cracked. I was getting tired of his broken expression and sad eyes. 

The clock was ticking, and I didn't have much time left. 

"Okay, okay, fine. My god, you're such a fucking _faggot_." I let out a grunt, allowing him to believe that I'd actually forgiven him. 

**Good. Let him think that.**

"Thank you, thank you. Honest. It won't ever happen again." Stan said, a wide, relieved smile on his face. 

_Yeah. I already know it won't ever happen again_. 

I offered my kindest smile, feeling pride in fooling him so easily. _Idiot,_ I thought, my body moving on its own accord, probably out of excitement. 

After a long moment of silence, I wasn't surprised to hear him speak up again. "Do you have any painkillers? My head feels like it's been stabbed a hundred times." Stan asked, moving to lie down on my bed. I bit my tongue, preventing myself from making any rude remarks. I really didn't want his disgusting popular boy germs on my sheets, but I wanted to make him feel at least somewhat comfortable. 

"Yeah. I'll get you some and then you can set up a few video games so we can chill out." I said, hiding any suspicions with a friendly spark to my voice. 

With his response of approval, I rushed out of the room. I had to hurry so that it didn't seem very suspicious. I grabbed the painkillers from my bathroom on the way, slipping it into my pocket. I rushed downstairs to grab some water for him, guessing Stan wouldn't be too happy if he had to swallow the pills dry. 

I snuck into the kitchen, glancing around for anything to substitute for water. I mumbled a few options, but before deciding, I quickly grabbed a silicone water bottle. It was so Stan wouldn't be able to see what was inside, because then my plan wouldn't succeed. I grinned to myself, crouching down to the shelves under the sink. I opened the door and fished out the bottle of bleach, unscrewing the lid and pouring enough into the water bottle to fill it up. The smell of bleach filled my senses, but I didn't pay any mind to it and instead shoved the bottle back under the sink. I made sure the lid was secure on the water bottle, and hoped Stan was stupid enough not to smell it. I shook the liquid a bit, enjoying the sound of toxins swishing around. I felt like a psychopath, but I wasn't afraid of that feeling. In fact, I actually _enjoyed_ it. 

I decided to make my way over to the drawer that held all the miscellaneous shit, and pulled out a small packet of those fruit punch flavored kool-aid powders. I ripped the wrapper and then unscrewed the lid of the water bottle before pouring the strong-smelling substance into the bleach, twisting the lid back on afterwards. I shook the drink furiously, making sure to mix everything evenly. 

After that, I made sure to take my time getting back to my room, holding the pill bottle in one hand and the water bottle in the other. I pushed my door open and sauntered into my room, feeling the adrenaline course through my veins at the sight of Stan innocently sitting in front of my T.V, a large grin on his face. He was probably hoping for a fun night of games, but I had a different type of _fun_ in mind. 

**Not crazy, not crazy.**

"I grabbed some flavored water to help wash the pill down." I said sweetly, handing him the bottle and dropping the cylinder object into his palm. I scratched nervously at my wrists as I watched him with a faded look in my eyes, anxious for the outcome of my devilish actions. 

I was surprised that he was stupid enough to drop the pill in his mouth and instantly take a long gulp of the flavored bleach. 

I bit my tongue when I saw the look on his face, only to prevent myself from smiling proudly. His eyes were wild with a type of fear that I'd never seen on anyone before, but it made my whole body tingle with an amazing feeling. 

"Ca-" Stan attempted to speak, but was cut off with a coughing fit. I almost gagged at the substance that was bubbling at his mouth, but I didn't feel bad. 

"Oh—shit. Do you need to throw up?" I asked, making sure I sounded sympathetic. He nodded towards me, like he _still trusted me._ What a fool. 

I didn't say anything more, and instead grabbed him by the arm and lifted him up. He wrapped his forearms tightly around my neck and continued to wretch—thankfully dry—and I prayed that he wouldn't get his germs all over my hoodie. I helped him out into the hall and to the bathroom, setting him down in front of the toilet, which caused him to immediately start throwing up. I cringed at the sound that echoed off of the walls of th room, and I wondered how my mom hadn't heard any noise. That was until I realized that she mentioned something about staying out late tonight, so I felt a bit relieved. 

I leaned against the door and waited for Stan to empty the little bit of bleach from his body, but little did he know it wouldn't be going away anytime soon. 

"I'm dizzy. Fuck." He murmured, leaning back and hitting the wall with his head. I wondered how he hadn't barely flinched at the impact, but I didn't dwell on the thought too long. I just sighed and walked over to him, my arms crossed. 

"Are you done spilling your germs all over toilet?" I asked, acting more normal than I had all day. I guess watching someone on the brink of death made me feel better, but this would only be the beginning. 

"Yeah. I just want to rest right now. Can we wait on the games?" Stan spoke weakly, using his shaking hands to help himself stand up. I moved out of his way and exited the bathroom patiently, knowing he'd follow slowly. 

I nodded to his question and allowed him to enter my room first. Once he was inside, I trailed behind, closing and locking the door secretly. I watched him as he lied down on my bed, curling up into a tight ball. I didn't feel bad for him, but I would never want to know what kind of pain he was experiencing at the moment. Being hungover and drinking at least a liter of bleach didn't sound very pleasant. 

I moved to sit at the end of my bed, staring at my exposed feet as I waited for Stan to pass out. His breaths were ragged and sharp, alerting me that he was definitely not asleep yet. 

Ten minutes later. Still not asleep. 

Fifteen. Nothing. 

Twenty. I was sick of waiting, so I turned to face him with a look of annoyance on my face. 

I was shocked to view that his eyes were closed lightly and his body was relaxed, exactly like he was sleeping. His breathing didn't sound like it, though.

I tapped his shoulder to make sure. No response.

I grinned as I walked over to my closet, digging for something I'd hidden a while ago. When I found it, I pulled it out of my box and gripped it tightly in my hands. I also reached over to grab a small, red object, shoving it in the pocket of my hoodie. Once I'd gained the courage again, I got to my feet and shakily approached Stan once more. I ended up staring at his face for the last time for about five minutes, my thoughts running through my head like a herd of cattle. After this, the young teen would never talk again. Never laugh, never smile, never play video games, never sleep, never have fun, never eat, never love, and least of all, never live ever again. 

And I quite enjoyed the feeling that came with that knowledge. 

I quickly spread a bundle rope out, making sure to measure the right length. I heard Stans stomach make a lot of abnormal sounds, but I didn't let that convince me to change my mind. I cautiously lifted Stans head and wrapped the backside of the rope around the boys neck, setting his head down against the pillow before making sure he was still asleep. I blinked, my face void of expression, and then I twisted the rope to hold each end in the opposite hand. If I pulled, I would immediately cut off circulation to his head, along with his trachea.

So that's what I did. 

I yanked, and I pulled so hard that his body tensed up, and Stans eyes opened wide with shock. He stared up at me, into my eyes. I wasn't expected the rush of shock that I felt with the realization of what I was doing, and I ended up pulling tighter. I gripped the rope with such force that my knuckles turned white, and I was scared. I was so scared. I felt the life leaving his body as I did this, pulling tighter and tighter. His hands shot up to my wrists, trying so hard to claw and pry at my grip, but I refused to let go. I refused to let Stan live after knowing I'd almost killed him. 

I felt tears well in my eyes, watching Stans breathing slow increasingly. His hands slid down my arms weakly, and a chill ran down my spine. I held my breath, my gaze flickering from the rope to Stans face. I exhaled, trying to ignore the feeling of guilt that pooled at my gut. 

I wasn't able to stop myself, and in less than five minutes—I counted—, Stan was lying dead on my bed. His eyes were glazed over, looking almost like fake glass. His body was spread out lifelessly, and blood trickled from his mouth, rolling down his chin and disappearing into his mess of raven hair.

I stared down at my hands with a type of victory that I'd never even known I had. Sure, I was feeling guilty and just downright _disgusting_, but I was proud of myself in a way. 

I swore I would never turn my fantasies into reality, but I'd proven that I was capable of completely losing myself in my emotions.

I let out a shaky breath and stood up, dropping the rope to the floor. I blinked, my body feeling numb. 

One thought popped into my head, and just three words managed to calm me down. 

**I'm not crazy.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's finally some action. this is the longest chapter that I've ever written of _anything_, so I'm pretty proud of it. I managed to hit more than 3k words. I can do better in the future, but this is a big jump for me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this really angsty chapter. just know- things only get worse from here. this is minor compared to some of the future scenes. 
> 
> so, keep reading at your own risk :)


	3. Liane Cartman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS!  
-mentions of violence, death, and graphic detail  
-panic attacks

The next morning, I walked downstairs and wasn't surprised to see the news flickering across the television screen. 

My mom sat on the couch, her expression filled with worry. I was undeniably glad that she got home late last night. She didn't know Stan was over at all, and she definitely didn't know that her son was hiding a dead body in his closet. That's a relief, right? I kept telling myself that. _Nobody knows._ But then again, I felt like everybody knew. Why did it seem like something had changed? It's the way the house was silent, or maybe the way my phone wasn't blown up by now. 

As I was in my head, I heard my mom call my name, but I acted like I hadn't heard her voice at all. I quietly stepped into the kitchen and poured myself a burning hot cup of black coffee, finding the aroma to be quite soothing. I looked past the window in the room, feeling overwhelmingly glad that it was Saturday. It meant I had enough time to recover from the guilt and frustration of murdering someone before having to go back to school. I already suspected that Kyle and Kenny would run over here later today, crying and begging me to help them find Stan. 

I almost wanted that to happen. Just so I could see the look on Kyle's face as he begged for my help. Eventually I would give in, of course, but it would be fun to aggravate him. 

I dismissed the daydream and opened the door to a small cabinet full of snacks, pulling out a bag of cheesy poofs. I didn't bother to open it yet, and instead grabbed my cup of coffee and slowly made my way up the stairs. I almost made it to the top of the steps before my mom called out for me again, and I let out a long sigh. It would be much easier if I ignored her, but I knew that wouldn't be possible. My mother was extremely insistent, and that was always a downfall of trying to be left alone. With a grunt, I slowly descended back down the stairs and stalked into the living room. I stood in front of her with my arms crossed, hoping the conversation would pass by quick and he could get back upstairs.

"Eric, honey—Aren't you upset about what happened to your friend?"

"Yes, mom. Of course I am. Are you completely dumb? I can't even _stand_ thinking about him right now." I snapped immediately, allowing a few _fake_ tears to fall from my eyes. Whether I was acting or not, I didn't care. I wanted to appear as if I was actually hurting, even if it was all a lie. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry, baby. I can go out and buy you some ice cream if you want, yeah? I don't think we have any left, and you sound like you could use some to cheer you up." Liane offered kindly, which I mentally rolled my eyes to. The tone of her voice had instinctively made me grimace, but I tried my best not to show it physically. Truthfully, I was always a complete dick to her; yet she continued to take time to make sure I was happy and comfortable. I honestly, without a doubt—do not deserve a mother like her. 

I don't really care much, though. It's not like I ever asked for a generous mother. "Okay, whatever. I'll be in my room. I want chocolate flavor, by the way." I murmured my response as I walked away, allowing the noise of the television to fade as I distanced myself from her. I continued on my way until I was certain I couldn't hear the sound as distinctively anymore. I stomped my way back up the stairs—grabbing the stuff I'd prepared a few minutes ago—and stumbling to my room. I made sure the door was locked before I told myself to calm down. I was probably being overly careful about making sure nobody would be able to enter my room, but could you blame me? I had a dead body in here, for fucks sake. 

Once I was in the clear, I set my stuff down on my bedside table, picking up my phone and checking the time. It was shocking when I saw that it was only a few minutes past ten in the morning. I had thought it was earlier than that, but I assumed that was probably because I'd been dealing with alot of mental issues this morning. I sat down on the edge of my bed and exhaled, eyeing the cup of black liquid on my table. I just wanted today to end already, was that too much to ask? Who cares about Saturdays, anyway? 

I reached out and grabbed the cup, ignoring the heat that seeped into my skin and took a long sip of the black substance. I cringed at how bitter it tasted, because I was never a big fan of coffee. It just sort of woke me up in the mornings, when I needed it. When I was done, I set the cup back down and allowed my gaze to travel to the closet door. I made a face, debating on whether to approach it or not. I slowly stood up, walking towards the closet. I stopped in front of it—hand outstretched—and felt hesitant to open it at first. I didn't want to face what was hidden inside. While biting my tongue, I slid the door open as quickly as possible. Even though I was the one who'd killed him, I couldn't stand to look at Stans dead body. 

The whole presence of his body looked sad and—well, dead. It made sense, but it was still slightly—no, extremely— disturbing to look at. I stared down at the lifeless ravenette, observing how his blue eyes had glassed over in a lonely way. I won't lie, and I'll admit Stan had always been a good-looking guy. He just lacked talent in the intelligence department, which seemed to have a downfall on his attractiveness. 

I allowed my eyes to travel the distinct mark of a darkened purple ring around his neck, narrowing my eyes. I had played last night's scene in my head over and over, remembering the feeling so well that I could describe it in full detail. I would never, of course, but the recognition was there. It might be shocking, but I really had the urge to grab Stan. To revive him, somehow. To turn back the time to when he was still alive, because then things would be normal. Everything would be okay. I wouldn't have this horrible feeling of despair constantly flickering in my mind. I wondered how easy it would be to time travel backwards and prevent myself from murdering in cold blood. 

But there was just that _one_ tug of emotion that prevented me from _not_ wanting to ever bring him back to life.

Jealousy. 

I was jealous of him. Not jealous of his family, or his appearance; though the latter would've been nice. I was actually jealous of how close Stan was to Kyle, because I wanted that to be _me_. It's nothing more complicated than that. 

I just want a best friend like Kyle. 

Is that too much to ask? It definitely is, and I know it. Nobody wants to be friends with someone as psychotic as I. 

See, now I remembered the main reason I killed Stan in the first place, so any regret I had been feeling was immediately replaced with pride. If he would have kept his fucking mouth shut, then he would still be alive, wouldn't he? Instead, he just _had_ to warn Kyle how dangerous I was. Like I was going to _actually hurt_ Kyle, or something. 

Never. 

I would _never_ hurt Kyle. 

Not in the way I hurt Stan, anyway. Kyle is beyond amazing, and I could go on and on endlessly about everything I love about him. His hair, messy but not unprofessional; cut at the sides and allowing a red mess atop his head. His eyes, a wonderful emerald green with a hint of yellow and red in them; the red only appeared when he was on the verge of going completely psycho-pissed. And not to mention his grades, which were always the best in the school and yet he still managed to have fun and enjoy his teenage life while it lasted. He never studied too hard, only fifty minutes, at most, each night. What had always surprised me is that he had still managed to keep a 4.0 GPA all throughout middle school _and_ most of highschool. On top of it all, Kyle was a positive person to anyone around him. He'd help someone if they asked him, and he didn't hesitate to put everyone else's emotions and problems above his own. I don't really know how I know all of this about him, but I do. It was kind of like a forcefield that pulled me towards him, and all of the little fights we'd have would reveal one more little secret about him. 

Suddenly, I snapped out of my thoughts, frustrated that I had gone into a mental tangent about all of Kyle's good features. I pushed any mental images of the redhead out of my mind, returning back to reality. I was still standing over Stan, but my vision seemed to have blurred. I rubbed at my eyes, only to realize that I had been crying. I clenched my fists and glared at the dead body at my feet. 

"Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit. I _hate_ you. I'm so glad you're de-" 

"Eric?" 

I froze, my blood running cold. I quickly slammed the closet door, kicking one of Stans colds hands back into the closet because it almost stuck out. I wiped the sudden beads of sweat from my forehead, gulping as I approached my door. I opened it and peeked out, not surprised to see my mother standing there. 

"What?" I hissed, noticing how my grip on the door had tightened, making my knuckles appear to be an off-white color. 

Liane frowned, looking like she suspected something. I swallowed again, sorting through a thousand good lies that I could randomly spit out if it came to that. Before I could say anything, my mom sighed and crossed her arms. "I think you should come with me, dear. It won't be healthy staying cooped up in your room, especially after.. Everthing that has happened."

I stared like I'd seen a ghost, and I'm more than positive that the older lady wasn't oblivious to the look I was giving her. She let out another sigh, attempting to push my door open. I was caught off-guard and grunted as I was easily pushed backwards a few steps. 

"I know you don't like shopping, Eric, but I can't remember the last time you did anything outside of the house besides going to school. I don't want my handsome baby boy to grow that tub of fat again, because you're doing so well with your weight." She continued on, staring at her feet. I was starting to get pissed off, but I didn't want to fight today. I definitely needed some fresh air, and maybe I'd _unintentionally_ run into Kyle while I was out. 

Once I'd made the decision, I rolled my eyes and allowed myself to agree to go. My mom left me alone after that, asking me kindly to get dressed. I obeyed, slipping on a simple red hoodie and a pair of comfortable sweat pants. I lazily flattened my hair with my hands, staring at the closet door. I felt bile rise up my throat, so I swallowed to get the taste out of my mouth. I grabbed my phone before leaving my room, closing the door quietly. I hoped nobody would come by when we were gone, but I didn't expect anyone to anyway. I was just being paranoid. 

I received a text from my mother that she was already in the car, so I sighed and slipped my shoes on quickly. I left the house and made sure to lock the door behind me, making my way to Liane's trashy car and settling into the passengers seat. 

It was a long drive, but I was stuck in my head most of the ride. My mom respected my silence, for once. The only sound that could be heard was the rumbling of the engine, and the radio station turned down to a low tune. My eyes followed the lines of the road as we drove, thinking about everything that had happened to my sanity recently. I was starting to grow annoyed with myself, but it was impossible to feel like my normal self again. 

I guess murdering someone did that to you, huh? 

I didn't even notice I was crying until we were parked, and I could feel my cheeks wet with a warm liquid. I quickly wiped the tears away, praying that my mom hadn't seen anything. She didn't seem to ask if I was okay, so I concluded that she hadn't. She was already out of the car and heading towards the mall, where we seemed to stop. She must've known that this was one of my favorite locations, or else she would've never come here. 

I was starting to actually feel _bad_ that my mom did all of this for me, and yet I'd never once thanked her. Granted, that wasn't going to start happening _now_, but I think it's a relief to feel that kind of an emotion after you'd just murdered someone. The feeling that someone genuinely _kind of_ cared.

I sighed and opened the passenger door to get out of the vehicle. I slammed it shut behind me and slowly followed my mother to the entrance, noticing how the air nipped angrily at my skin. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, glaring daggers at my feet. Any feeling of gratitude towards Liane had dispersed, and now left behind a feeling of frustration. It was _her_ fault that I was going to freeze my ass off today, because she had forced me out of the house thinking it would 'make me feel better'. Well, fuck her, because it just made me feel worse. 

When I finally looked up from my thoughts, I noticed that my mother was nowhere in sight. I grunted and picked up my pace, pushing through the front doors of the mall. The corridors were pretty deserted, but I figured that was kind of a good thing. It meant I didn't have to worry about running into anyone. I could enjoy my Sunday, basking in the moments of silence where things could be somewhat normal. 

I smiled gently to myself, my worries finally slipping from my mind. My eyes darted around the area, turning my head in the direction of a distinct smell. I quickly made my way towards it—the nearest taco stand—licking my lips hungrily. I was about to step into the line when I heard my name being called, and I froze. I prayed it was just my mother, because I didn't want to face anybody else. I knew I would be able to keep my composure, but I didn't want to risk it. 

Without thinking twice, I innocently avoided the taco stand and made my way to the bathrooms. I could hide there for a while, and hopefully whoever saw me would leave without thinking twice. Wouldn't that be nice? 

**_Wouldn't that be nice._**

I held my breath as I walked, feeling my body slowly shut down as I did so. I needed oxygen to stay conscious, but I seemed to forget about that air was a requirement for a few moments. I feared that if I made any noise—even the simple action of breathing—I would get caught. Caught. For what, exactly? Murder? Running away? There's no way anybody would know. Stan was _hidden_. Not very well, but nobody would suspect to look through my closet for a missing—technically _dead_—person. 

I exhaled a long breath of air once I'd reached the bathrooms, approaching the mirror. I wasn't as surprised to see a deathly pale face staring back at me, just as I thought I would be. I looked miserable. My hair was messy. Greasy. My eyes? Dark. I almost tricked my brain to believe I saw bags under my eyes, but that wouldn't be right. I slept perfectly fine, didn't I? Maybe I hadn't slept at all. That would make sense, really. I couldn't remember if I had or hadn't. Who would be able to sleep after they murdered someone, anyway? A psychopath, that's who. But I _am not_ a psychopath, right? Murder isn't something any sane person would commit, but that didn't mean I was mental.

I blinked away from the mirror in front of me, staring at my hands instead. I could still feel the bleach on my skin—rough and itchy. They were the remains that had splashed on my skin. I almost laughed at that. Key word; almost. I didn't want to bring any attention to myself if it turned out I wasn't the only one in the bathroom. I waved my hands under the automatic sink, allowing the warm water to moisten my skin. My hands felt like they were bleeding. They weren't, I knew that. I could obviously see that they were the normal pale color, with a few specks of white that may take a while to get it. 

I was close to flinching when I looked up into the mirror and saw two figures standing behind me. Before I accidentally freaked out, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and turned to face them. I blinked quickly, afraid of keeping my eyes shut for too long. Why? Why was I scared? There's nothing to be afraid of. 

**Nothing to be afraid of.**

"Cartman." 

I swallowed, my hands behind my back. I rubbed at the skin anxiously. I wasn't ready. Not for human interaction, anyway. Not so soon after what happened. The paranoia popped up again, eating me from the inside out. I wanted it to go away. I wanted the fear and the guilt to go far, far away. 

I was brought back to reality once more when I heard my voice being called again, and I held eye contact with the redhead a few feet away from me. It made my heart flutter. I wanted to throw up. Was that normal? I wanted to curl up and rethink my choices. Why did I kill him? Why? _Why? Why why why why-_

"Eric fucking Cartman." 

I blinked. 

"Did you hear?" Kyle asked quietly.

Oh. A simple question. That's all. That's all. "Hear what?"

"About Stan, you fucking dumbass." Kyle hissed. I was slightly taken aback. I didn't want to have a conversation that had anything to do with the dead boy, but I wasn't about to avoid the topic entirely. That would be suspicious, right? 

"Oh, yeah. Do you two have any idea what happened to the hippie anyway?" I questioned, trying to hide my nervousness. They don't know. They don't. They will never know, it's okay. _They don't, they don't, they-_

"No. That's why you're going to come with and help us find him." Kenny suddenly joined in on the conversation, and I was surprised to hear how dead his voice sounded. I couldn't blame him. He probably felt as guilty as I did, so I sent him a sympathetic glance. His expression didn't change, but I hoped he still understood. As much of a dick as I was, I still had feelings too. Sometimes people forgot that. But honestly, sometimes I forgot that, too. I didn't mean to make Kenny suffer—only Stan.

"Says who?" 

"Says us, fatass. We're all his friends. We aren't going to give up on him. Well, actually, we could care less if you do or not. But what if he's in trouble?" Kyle spoke, his tone bitter. A few moments ago it was soft—raw, and scared. Now it was full of rage, something Kyle was built up of. Anger. Frustration. Sadness, probably. 

"Whatever. He's probably just hiding in the mountains somewhere, pouting over his terrible breakup." 

Saying that had earned two hard glares from both Kyle and Kenny. I shrunk a bit, desperate for them to both look away. Kenny didn't seem to like that comment one bit, and if I was seeing correctly, he almost looked as if he wanted to cry.

"Fine, fine. I'll help, or whatever." I mumbled, rolling my eyes. I pretended not to notice how both of my friends' eyes lit up slightly. Seeing Kyle's bright, hopeful emerald green eyes made my paranoia shrink a few decimals. I wondered if that was normal. Either way, I found a feeling of slight relief. 

I watched as the two boys left the bathroom, and I gripped at my wrists tightly. I could feel my heart pumping quite loudly in my ears, but all I wanted was for it to shut up. Why won't it shut up? I bit my tongue, surprised by the sudden flavor of fresh blood that had filled my senses. It tasted metallic, but not in a bad way. It was a soothing taste, but it made my skin prickle with discomfort. When was the last time I tasted my _own_ blood? It had been at least five years, I guessed. No wonder it tasted unfamiliar, like trying a new food for the first time. All of a sudden, I'd caught myself in thought and blinked aggressively. What the hell—it almost felt as if I wasn't even in my own body. Numbness. I moved my hands, desperate to feel my limbs. Eventually, the sensation of tingling body parts had allowed me to finally start walking and follow Kyle and Kenny out of the bathroom. I needed to stay casual. 

I exhaled, trying to calm myself, but jumped slightly when I turned the corner and saw Kenny staring at me with his arms crossed. Jesus, he really did look like shit. He continued to give me a hard glare, making my body shift uncomfortably. 

"Uh—Kenny?" I spoke up, trying to ignore how my voice had shaken slightly. Why did I feel afraid? I needed to grow a thicker skin. Fuck, I was going to give myself away eventually. I stood up a little straighter, waving my hand in front of his face after he'd kept eerily quiet. 

Kenny didn't respond. He didn't even flinch. He just shook his head and walked away—far away from me. I was left confused, but not for long. 

"What did you do?" Kyle questioned, his voice close to my ear. I felt chills from how near he was, because I hadn't realized he was behind me at all. I swallowed, feeling an instant rush of paranoia. What if he knew? They _all_ know everything.

_They don't._ There is no way they know what happened, right? It's okay. It's fine. 

"Answer me, fatass." 

I shoved Kyle away, turning around the face the redhead with a serious expression. I couldn't show weakness; couldn't show any sign of suspicions. "What do you mean, what did I do?" I answered with my own question, deciding to try and piss Kyle off. It was attractive—but that was a thought I dismissed from my mind quickly. 

"I have this—_feeling_ that you did something. You know where he is, don't you?" Kyle pressed, his intense stare making my skin crawl.

"I don't, I swear it. Do you really think I would do something to one of my best friends?"

**Idiot. You had.**

**Don't play dumb. He knows. Look at him. You have to kill him next. He's next.**

I felt my body tremble slightly, finding the new thoughts of mine to be beyond sane. I was walking on thin ice—so, so close to losing my mind. Plummeting into the watery abyss, gasping for air and begging for help. _Help_. And suddenly, I couldn't breathe. I tried to clench my hands into fists in an attempt to hide my struggles, but there was no way I could speak without passing out. My chest stung—my lungs were burning. 

Kyle seemed to notice what was going on, and he quickly tugged on my wrist. I snapped back to reality, surprised that a touch of human contact seemed to pull me back to the feeling of something familiar. I looked up, surprised to see Kyle flinch when I had. He immedietly dropped my wrist, and I took a step back. 

"Dude, are you okay?" Kyle asked; in that sweet, caring tone of his. Always making sure everyone was okay before he was. _Always_. 

"I'm fine, Jew. Let's just get going." I mumbled my response, unable to say something even remotely offensive. I was emotionally drained—from whatever I'd just experienced and from the guilt that still followed my every move. I sensed Kyle's eyes on the back of my head as I walked away, though I didn't comment on it. I didn't want to. I wanted to go home—maybe Kyle and Kenny would allow me to have some time for myself. Well, not exactly for myself. Stan would be there. 

**Yeah, but he won't actually be there.**

**You know why? Because you killed him. You murdered him in cold blood, you fucking idiot. Fucking dumbass.**

I stopped, my vision going blurry. Different from last time—I felt enraged. I was ready to scream; yell, kick, cry. Like a child throwing a temper tantrum, really. I let out a low growl, closing my eyes in an attempt to ground myself again. Once I was sure I was back to reality, I was okay. I looked up to see Kyle and Kenny walking next to each other and talking secretly to one another, and I scoffed to myself. 

I took a moment for myself and approached the taco stand that I had been aiming for earlier. I pulled out a ten dollar bill, making my way over to stand in line. I don't know how long I'd be standing there, but I was positive that both the blonde and the redhead wouldn't mind me staying away from them for a while. 

I yawned, trying to find my self control. None seemed to be left—but that was no surprise. I was a mix of emotions; rage, love, guilt, and fear. What a combination of feelings, most would say. And that—I can agree with. 

I allowed my eyes to search the area around me, wondering if anyone in the room was concerned about Stan. If anyone even knew who he was, even. How many people would be affected by his death? Only a few, I guessed. Kyle, Kenny, and Stans family. I was lost in my thoughts when, suddenly, I felt a buzz in my pocket. I had flinched visibly, almost crying out in surprise—but I'd kept quiet. I quickly observed my surroundings, making sure I hadn't caught anyone's attention. I sighed in relief when I silently declared I hadn't, and I pulled out the source of the buzzing. I cautiously turned on my phone, and the device softly emitted a dull light. I scanned my notifications, but one stuck out to me. A text message, from only a moment ago. 

I felt my heart drop to my stomach. 

_'We need to talk.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck, been more than two months. I'm sincerely sorry for my disappearance, but a lot has happened in the past two months. I had no motivation, and everything I wrote seemed to be shit. 
> 
> but, with that aside—this is the longest chapter written so far. 4,600 words. not as much as most other creators, but I feel accomplished in finally having the ability to write much more than before. this story has been an emotional rollercoaster so far, but I'm hoping the next update doesn't take as long. there is no way I'm abandoning this project, because I'm truly inspired to produce a decent fanfiction for people to read. I just need to really push myself to accomplish that, right? 
> 
> I hope you guys have happy holidays, no matter what you celebrate!


	4. Leopold Stotch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!  
\- mental institutions  
\- medications   
\- mentions of schizophrenia, ptsd, and bipolar disorder

I had read the text once, twice—five times, over and over again. I refused to open it. If I did, I knew what I would have to face. I wasn't ready for that. Not in the slightest. But there wasn't much I could do, was there? 

With shaky hands, I tapped on the message that shone on my screen. I knew the sender was now aware that I had received their text, but I was too shaken up to send a response back.

**_He_ knows about him.**

I felt a tug in my chest, begging myself to ignore it and go on with my day. But I knew I wouldn't be able to, because my paranoia was getting the best of me. In the end, I had no choice. If I ignored the message, then it would make things more suspicious than they already were. I wasn't going to risk it.

I did a quick glance around the mall, making sure that nobody was watching me. I had the eerie feeling that someone was observing my every move, and it made me feel jittery. I took one last glance at the taco stand, debating if I was really that hungry. It didn't take too long before I was rushing away from it, deciding that—even though I felt like I was starving—it would be best if I didn't stay here much longer.

I made my way to the front doors of the mall, a concentrated scowl on my face. I didn't know where Kyle and Kenny were, but at this point, I didn't care. I stuffed my hands into my pockets, gripping my phone with a great amount of force, and I noticed my other hand had brushed against an object. I was slightly startled, seemingly confused as to what it could've been. I pulled it out and stared at it for a while, clicking the trigger and watching as a blade flicked open. My switchblade. I had forgotten that I'd left it in my pocket yesterday when I was searching my closet, before the incident with Stan. 

I made a face, annoyed with myself. I closed the knife and shoved it back into my pocket. I forced my thoughts to an abrupt stop, and I didn't hesitate to hurry out of the mall. Once I was outside, I shuddered, realizing how annoyingly cramped it had felt in there. It was an exhausting feeling, but I was glad that I had managed to escape. I allowed myself to take in a few breaths of the bitter air, hoping it would calm me down. Even if it was just a little bit. 

It wasn't very efficient, but I didn't mind. Besides that, I realized how long a walk it would be to get back into town, but I had no other option. I'd taken a ride from Kyle in his dad's shitty truck, so I either hijacked it or took a two mile walk.

I settled with the two mile walk. 

Plus, it would give me time to rethink everything that has happened in the past twenty-four hours. My memories seemed to blur together, and I almost felt as if all of it was just in my imagination. The fuzziness in my thoughts when I think of what happened makes reality feel like a complete dream— similar to those that you remember so vividly in the few seconds before you wake up, but the memory vanishes the second you're conscious. 

I pulled my hands out of my pockets and rubbed them against my jacket, picking up my pace. I took off down the road, leading myself away from the mall behind me, praying that I wouldn't have a cardiac arrest on my way to my next destination. I was—to put it simply—not physically fit enough to walk such long distances. It was difficult to do anything even remotely similar to exercise, and walking fell into that category. 

As much as I felt the need to complain to the world, I decided to bite my tongue and keep quiet. It's not like I had anyone to ramble to, anyway. I was purely alone, walking the deserted streets of South Park. Everybody was inside the safety of a building due to the dropping temperatures. One moment the cold is tolerable, and the next it feels like you're freezing your balls off. 

Right now I feel the latter, and it definitely isn't a comfortable feeling. More things to complain about, I suppose. I rolled my eyes at myself and tugged my phone out of my pocket, my fingers numb. I turned the device on, my attention averted fully to the screen. I was checking to make sure I wasn't seeing things with who texted me, because I didn't want to accidentally visit _him_ without a purpose. 

_He_ isn't a very pleasant person to be around. To put it kindly, _he_ is basically a psychopath. I mean—I'm starting to fall into the same category, but that's a thought I dismiss as soon as it enters my mind. Because I'm not like that. I'll never be like that. 

It was extremely intimidating to be around him, and as much as I wished I could avoid him at all costs, he still manages to get into contact with me every now and then. It's a bit unsettling, but I've learned to live with it. It had been four years since he got emitted. 

Four years. 

That long, huh? It seems like just last month he was getting chained up and shoved into a crate, looking similar to those that you'd trap a wild animal in. To be truthful, he was easily labeled _as_ a wild animal. 

I shut off my phone and kept it in my grip as I walked, wondering how much further I had to go. It felt like it had already been hours, but I knew that wasn't right. The sun was still edging higher into the sky, casting a glowing effect on the snow that I'd occasionally crush between my feet. 

I instinctively checked the time, grumbling when the clock read just a few minutes past one. I continued my trek, shuffling my shoes against the slush occasionally. 

I was just so _ecstatic_ to see _him_. 

That's obvious sarcasm. 

I kept walking anyway. 

——

When I arrived at my destination, I hesitated to enter the eerily white building. I checked the text one more time before pushing the doors open and entering, bracing myself for what I was having to face. An immediate foul smell hit me in the face, and I suppressed the urge to gag. It always smelt so awful in here, and I already wanted to leave. 

But I didn't have an option to do that. 

I approached the front desk, attempting to appear as polite as I could. Of course, I had no troubles with that. Years of manipulation, seduction, and acting had petty much labeled me as a professional. I knew the tricks would come in handy in the future, and here we are. 

I leaned my elbows on the counter, my expression gentle. "Hello, miss." 

That had caught the receptionists attention, and she looked up from her computer screen with tired eyes. "What do you need?" she asked, her voice as monotone as it could get. 

"I'm here to see patient 102." I replied with no hesitation. Her expression morphed into a look of alarm, but it didn't last long before she had returned to her exhausted appearance.

"Go ahead," was all she said, shaking her hand in the direction of the right corridor. She had already turned to her computer, and I let out a quiet scoff. Once turning around, I approached the double set of doors, waiting until I heard the all-too familiar click before I pushed them open. 

I hated this place. 

I hated this place. 

_I **hate** this place_

I stared down at the tiled floor, seeming to hold my breath. This place was a living hell. I'd only been here about ten times, but the whole aura around and inside the building was too uncomfortable. I traced the creases in the material below my feet, wondering how much blood had spilled onto them. How many psychopathic people had walked exactly where I was. I blinked violently, a strange chill shooting down my spine. 

**You belong here. You know that? This is your home.**

Letting out a huff of breath, I approached room one-hundred. Hundred one. I stopped in front of the door that had a little silver tag on the wood, reading one hundred and two in obviously black numbers. 

I took a few moments for myself, prepping myself for what and who I'd have to face after I opened the barrier between us. I kept my gaze focused as I twisted the nob and slowly opened the door, shocked when I was suddenly hit with the aroma of eucalyptus, and it was too easy to forget about the gross smell out in the main corridors. 

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. I tried to relax, but my posture seemed to be stiff and cautious. I looked up, spotting a bed that was positioned straight ahead of me, as well as a frail boy was sitting amongst it. He seemed to be watching me carefully, and I tried not to acknowledge the occasional prick along the nape of my neck and the chill that ran down my arms.

"Eric." 

It was strange hearing his voice so deep, yet gentle. His tone was serious, and it was quite obvious of that. I hesitantly stepped forward, finding my hands to be stuffed into my pockets _again_. I guess I was too paranoid to keep them out in the open–especially in a place like this. It might also be because of the fact that I had easy access to the switchblade in my pocket, if it really came to that. 

"Why so scared? You know I don't bite." He spoke again, though his tone was sharp. He was probably irritated, and I was yet to discover why. I wasn't sure if I even wanted to know. 

"I'm not scared. It's just dark in here." I quipped, and I wasn't really lying. The only source of light was the lamp in the corner, and it's lightbulb seemed to be flickering out to a dim. I watched my feet as I stepped closer, acting as if I would step on something unpleasant if I didn't pay enough attention. 

Once I was close enough, I stood next to the bed with my brows furrowed. The boy in the bed simply turned around, his hands resting in his lap and his blonde hair disheveled. The only source of lighting in the room reflected off his orbs, which looked more like a dull gray than their lively turquoise blue color. 

He must have caught me staring, because he made a sudden clicking noise with his tongue. I jolted back to reality, my expression fading into one of annoyance at the sound. 

"I didn't expect you to actually come."

"I planned on doing exactly that, actually. Not coming." I admitted, knowing that there wasn't much to lose from exposing myself in such a way. Unless he decided to jump me, but that was highly unlikely. 

The only response I got was a bitter laugh, and I couldn't help but shiver as the hairs on my skin rose. "You're that scared of me, are ya?" he teased, though it sounded more like mockery. 

"I'm not scared of you, Leo." 

He laughed again. I didn't understand how his presence was so unnerving, and it didn't help everytime he did something so out of character for him. 

"Leo? Who do ya think I am, Eric?" he questioned, though it seemed he was starting to soften his words. "I'm still Butters. Butters Stotch, the cheerful little bud that sacrificed his own innocence to make everyone else _happy_." he replied to his own question, and I couldn't help but grimace when his softening tone had so easily faded to reveal hostility at his last words. 

"Nobody asked you to do that. You just did." I commented, remembering to be wary of my word choice. 

"Really? Nobody _asked_, huh? That's a whole ton of bullshit, and ya know it." Leo ridiculed, and I knew he was right. Everybody had used him as a toy, passing him on when they got bored. I was never able to sympathize with him, because he was practically begging to be tossed around. 

I just shook my head, and I couldn't help but glance over to a corner, keeping my gaze there for quite a while. 

"I'm sick of you playin innocent, Eric. You were always the first one to push me around." He continued on, though I kept silence. I didn't want to get on his bad side, because he already seemed to be in a sour mood today. 

"Did you take your meds?" I suddenly asked, my attention shifting to focus on Leo once again. He seemed to shut down for a moment, and I guessed that I'd caught him off-guard. 

After an unsettling silence, he finally nodded. A small action, but I caught it. "Of course I did." he mumbled, and it annoyed me that I almost couldn't hear him. 

"_Butters_. Did you take your medicine?" I gripped onto the side of the bed, and he looked down at his sheets. His brows creased together, and I could tell that he was contemplating something. The fact that he could be so hostile one minute, and then incredibly helpless the next was kind of saddening. Not to me—of course—but to some people. 

"No. I didn't." 

I sighed, bringing a hand to my face and rubbing my skin tenderly. "Fucking dumbass." I growled, taking a step back. I knew that was a bad thing, because Leo was an unpredictable monster when it came to not taking his daily pills. The kid was diagnosed with a bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, and ptsd. 

To say the least, he was completely fucked up. His whole life had been thrown away after an incident that happened merely four years ago, leaving him to stay in a mental institution until he was completely stable. They predicted he'd be released somewhere around his twenty first birthday, assuming that he'd be 'cured' enough by then. 

I was shaken from my thoughts when I heard shuffling, and my eyes darted to where Leo sat, moving the items on his nightstand. It was mainly just a bundle of pill bottles, paper, pencils, and a few miscellaneous stuff that I guessed he'd collected from the garden. The blonde reached for a container of medicine, and when he'd gotten a grip on it, he pulled it towards himself. He looked up at me, and I stared back. It was strange watching someone fumble with a bottle full of round capsules that 'fix' them. 

Isn't that funny? That a small artificial piece of powder can completely change someone? I wondered if I would be able to find any kind of pills that would help me. Not that anything was wrong with me, of course. Maybe it would get rid of this endless pit of guilt welting in my stomach. That would be beneficial if I could—I would feel okay again. 

**You'll never feel okay.**

I exhaled, closing my eyes and urging the voice in my head to go away. It was getting annoying at this point, and I'd tried so hard to ignore it. But it was getting louder, and it almost felt _painful._ That was bad, wasn't it? Maybe I should ask Leo what the early signs of insanity were. But I'm not insane, so I suppose that would be a pretty useless thing to ask. I almost smiled, but Leo's sudden voice had snapped me back to reality. 

"Can ya open these for me?" He questioned, holding the bottle out to me. 

I furrowed my brows, confused for a long moment. Leo sighed, shaking his head before elaborating. 

"They make it t'where I can't open them. They inject a needle in my hands that weaken them, so I can't really do much with 'em." The boy explained, and I'd stepped forward to grab them. I kind of felt bad that Leo had to deal with that kind of treatment, but supposed that he deserved everything he got. 

Once I'd struggled enough and gotten the bottle open, I took one pill out and placed it into my palm. I held it out, but Leo sighed again. 

"Two."

I attempted to hide my annoyance, and pulled my hand back to pour another small capsule into my palm. I handed them back, and Leo popped them both into his mouth at the same time and swallowed them dry. I didn't know if that was healthy, but I didn't comment on it. 

"You can sit down." Leo said politely, gesturing to the chair against the wall. He shifted his legs so that he was sitting cross-legged, staring at me with suddenly brighter blue eyes. With an exception of the dull gray one, that is. 

I glanced between the boy and the chair, but eventually moved to drag the latter closer to the bed. I sat down, sighing in relief. I'd been standing way longer than I wanted to, and it felt nice to sit back and relax. 

"So." The gentle silence was broken, but I still looked up to meet eye contact with Leo.

"What?"

"I have a question." Leo stated, his head cocking slightly to the left. 

"What?" I repeated, starting to feel anxiety rise in my chest. 

"Ya know what happened to Stan, don't you?"

**Fuck.**

I swallowed nervously, hoping my expression hadn't given anything away. I didn't want to have this discussion with Leo. I didn't want to have this discussion with _anyone_. "Why do you say that?" I cursed silently when my words had come out shaken. 

"I don't think ya realize that he visits me everyday. Though, he didn't come yesterday. That was the last night before he was declared missin'. On Thursday night, he mentioned going over to your house to apologize for his wrongdoings." Leo affirmed, looking down at his own hands that had started subconsciously knocking against each other. "I have high suspicions that you either know about or have somethin' to do with his disappearance." He finally looked up, and I suddenly found his gaze appearing very cold. 

Despite my guilty conscience, I shook my head firmly. "I don't know what you mean. The last time I saw Stan was Thursday at school. He didn't come on Friday, and I was in school at that point. You can ask anyone."

"Is that so?" Leo inquired, raising one of his brows in an intimidating fashion. 

"Yeah. You seriously think I would kill my own friend?" 

Leo's attention was immediately more focused then it was before, and he was slightly scowling. "Eric."

I ignored the chills that ran down my spine, and I rolled my eyes. "What."

"I never said Stan was _killed_. I said he went missing." Leo's words were cold, and I gripped at the fabric of my jacket in an attempt to keep myself under control. 

**Idiot, idiot. Fucking idiot.**

"So? There's a high possibly that he died. There's no way someone would just kidnap him, or something." 

Leo eyed me suspiciously, and then looked down to pick at his nails. He had a serious look on his face, and I wished I didn't have the guilt creeping into my stomach again. I glanced towards the door, desperate to stand up and leave. It would take little to no effort, and then I wouldn't have to talk to Leo until I came back. 

"Eric, I'm not as stupid as ya think I am. I can sense when you're lyin'. Ya always get this tension in your neck, and nobody would be able to notice unless they were purposely looking for it." 

I swallowed thickly, and allowed my frustration to envelop my conscience. I stood up, giving Leo a look of disgust. 

"Leavin' so soon? That's a bummer." He smiled. "This can be our own secret, okay? I'll text you next time I see somethin' suspicious on the news." Leo giggled, a devilish glint in his eyes. 

I inhaled, clenching my hands into fists and holding my glare. "Fuck you." I hissed, turning around and rushing out of the room. 

And not once did I look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah, can you believe I actually updated?   
half of this chapter has just been sitting in my drafts as I go on with my uneventful life.   
either way, happy (late) valentines day! even though it's still v-day where I live. 
> 
> this is basically more of a filler chapter, but we meet Leo! he's a bit suspicious of Erics actions, so there'll be a lot more of that blonde buddy eventually. 
> 
> besides that, I'm very sorry that I have such a delayed posting schedule! I have the outlines written out, but I just don't know where to take the story from here. my main objective was to make eric obsessed with kyle, and killing everyone who got too close to him. but now I'm just kind of lost.   
I've had to do a lot of thinking, and I still don't know when I'll get a consistent updating schedule. 
> 
> I hope the next chapter won't take two months to update, but I can't make promises.   
thanks for reading this chapter, though. things will start getting spicy eventually.


	5. How to Hide a Body pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning!!  
\- foul language

As soon as I'd gotten out of Leo's room, I bolted for the doors leading to the lobby. I heard disapproving shouts behind me, and I had to hold my breath and pray that I had enough luck that the nurses didn't catch me. I didn't want to get stuck in here, too. They'd realize what I'd done and make sure I was confined within these pale, lifeless walls for the rest of my life. I ran faster, finally allowing myself to breathe, and the main thought running through my head was how I wanted to get the _fuck_ out of here. When I finally reached the double doors I pushed them open, slowing my pace when I stepped into the lobby. Only then did I finally stop in an attempt to slow my erratic breathing, barely able to process how I'd gotten from Leos room to the lobby so quickly. It must be a new records time for me.

I looked up and noticed the confused stares that I was getting from a family near the door, so I decided to send them all a quick glare as a warning to mind their own business. They'd gotten the message, and I heard their child start bawling after a few seconds of awkward whispering. I shook my head, clearly annoyed, and wanting nothing more than to throw the damn baby out the window. Nobody wants to listen to incessant crying, especially not at a mental institution. Who in their right mind would bring a fucking child be here, anyway? Unsurprisingly, I wouldn't put it past the people in this town. It's South Park—nobody here is even close to being remotely normal, let alone having right minds. 

After I'd calmed down enough, I glanced towards the doors that lead outside. I didn't dare say anything to the receptionist sitting behind her desk, watching me warily. Instead, I sauntered out of South Parks Psychiatric Hospital—SPPH for short, I suppose—risking no attempt to look over my shoulder as I did so.

As soon as I was out of that place, I was able to inhale fresh oxygen, and I let out a breathy exhale. There was no way I'd be going back to that place anytime soon. Especially not when Leopold was there, flatly accusing me of Stans disappearance. The thing is, he's not wrong at all. That's the scary part, really. I don't want anyone to find out about my fucked up ways of dealing with jealousy, and I especially don't want Leo to be the one who knows. 

I took a few steps towards one of the concrete posts that sat just outside the doors, noticing a wave of dark clouds roll into view. I watched my hands tremble as I pressed my weight against the hard surface, my chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths once more. I scanned the area around me, barely registering the cold breeze that was starting to roll in again. I wondered what time it was now, after that encounter with my least favorite person. It couldn't be too late, because it had only been around eleven fourty-five when I'd left the mall. It was a twenty minute walk to the hospital, though, so I knew it was at least sometime past twelve thirty. 

Even with my intelligent job at calculating time, I decided to double-check. It didn't take much effort to tug my phone out of my pocket, although my hands were slightly stiff because of the cold. I pressed the power button and stared down at the screen, forcing myself not to throw my phone at the ground and completely crush it. I completely forgot about checking the time, and instead scanned my notifications with a shaky laugh. 

I brought one of my hands to my hair, running my fingers through the strands carelessly. "Well fuck," I mumbled, closing my eyes. I had nine missed calls from my mom, two from Kyle, as well as four unread messages from both him and Kenny.

I decided to make my way towards the nearest bench, which wasn't too far away. It was under an obviously dead-looking tree, and the bench was covered in a few patches of snow and ice. It didn't take much effort to brush the unwanted frozen substances away, and I sat down immedietly. I ignored the cold biting at my ass, and I had to thank my current attention on my phone for that. I could deal with frozen buttcheeks later; checking the spam of notifications seemed more important. 

I opened Kyle's messages first, feeling my stomach roll in anticipation. He usually never texted me, so this was new, but I didn't necessarily know if that was a good thing. I narrowed my eyes, staring at the first message and reading my way through the rest. 

_Dude._

_Where did you go? Me and Kenny were looking everywhere. He's pretty worried about you. He's convinced you got abducted, too. I thought you were coming with us?_

I blinked at the first two messages, surprised that Kyle seemed genuinely worried about me. It was almost heartwarming, but I knew not to get too excited—he mentioned Kenny was the one who was worried. I continued reading, although hesitantly. The next text was fifteen minutes after the last, seeming more frantic and less Kyle-like. 

_Where the fuck are you? Answer, you fat asshole. Just pick up your phone. At least answer your mom, she's here and she's tried to call you, like, five times? Now we're all worried about you._

Okay, that was actually incredibly Kyle-like. I felt the warm feeling return and start to swell in my gut, but that was probably only because Kyle was acting like he cared. Kenny and my mom were the main suspects that would worry so much about me, not Kyle. Then again, Kyle seemed to care about everyone. Like I've had mentioned before, he would help everyone in the universe if he could. He's just too generous, I suppose. 

I read the last message, sent only ten minutes ago. 

_Dude, please. At least turn your location on. You didn't get kidnapped, did you? We are headed over to your house now._

I jumped up, feeling as if I had been shot in the throat. My chest tightened uncomfortably, and I let out a bitter whine at the icy pain on my ass and on the back of my thighs. I didn't have the time to calm down before I pressed the call button that sat next to Kyle's contact name, deciding that I could read Kennys texts later. I needed to make sure they didn't make it to my house, because I couldn't let them look in my closet, and couldn't let them catch any drift of the aroma that had to have evaded the entire space. 

After the first ring, Kyle picked up. 

"Dude! What the fuck! Where the fuck are you? Why didn't you answer? You just disappeared! We were waiting for you for like, fifteen minutes! Then we looked everywhere, and you weren't there, and—what the fuck, dude!" 

The yelling in my ear made me flinch slightly, and I almost heard Kyle's mom in his voice for a moment there. "Jesus, get the stick out of your ass and calm down. I'm fine." I hissed irritably, hoping to get my panic under control. I took a few deep breaths, sticking my free hand into the pocket of my jacket. It was starting to get really fucking cold out, and all I had was a thin coat with half-soaked shoes. "Where are you? I could use a ride, like, now. Before I freeze my ass off."

Kyle took a moment of silence, probably to calm himself down from his melodramatic outburst. "We're on the side of the road, now. We were headed to your place. Liane's driving. Where are you? What happened?" he inquired, and his tone didn't seem as harsh as it had been a few moments prior, and I could've sworn it sounded like he'd been crying. 

"I'm at the mental hospital place. I came to visit Leopold. He texted me and shit, asking me to see him."

"Why the fuck—okay, whatever." I heard Kyle say something away from the phone, sounding like 'He needs a ride. He's at the the Psychiatric Hospital', or something of that sorts. "Cartman, I swear to god. I actually—fuck, dude. I thought they took you."

"They?" I questioned, suddenly feeling my knees go weak. What was Kyle so worried about? It's not like I had been brutally murdered just like Stan, because _I_ was the actual murderer. And I'm pretty sure the murderer can't murder himself and drag the body somewhere to hide, unless it was some sort of suicide, but that'd be pretty useless. 

"They, as in—whoever took Stan. I don't know, I was just scared. We didn't know where you went, and with Stan being—" There was a long silence, and I assumed Kyle almost said _dead_. "Getting kidnapped. We wanted to make sure you were okay. As much as I hate your fat lard of an ass, I can't risk losing you too. Me and Kenny, we—we wouldn't be able to go on by ourselves if something did happen." Kyle said, and it sounded as if he was starting to tear up again. I heard a gentle sniff on the other side of the phone, and I had to sit down to prevent my legs from giving out from underneath my weight. 

I forced myself to laugh, although I wanted to find a way to calm Kyle down somehow. Stan would've known how, probably. I grimaced, trying to get the idea out of my head. I didn't want to think about him or his fate right now. "Okay, okay. I get it, stop being such a homo. I'm fine, I will be fine, and if anyone dared put one _finger_ on me, I'd feed them to their dog." 

I heard Kyle chuckle, and that caused me to smile slightly. It was relaxing to be able to talk to my love interest without adding arguing or insults into the mix, at least. Kyle let out a soft sigh, and I tried to stop myself from imagining the feeling of his warm breath against my cheek. "You probably would, wouldn't you? We're almost there. Just give us a few minutes." 

I nodded, but then realized Kyle wasn't talking to me in person. "'Kay." I quickly murmured, waiting for my mother's car to roll into view. I'm definitely relieved that they hadn't made it to the house, because that could have only ended in chaos. There was silence on the other side of the line as I waited, staring off into the trees. 

I wondered if Stan was able to view what was going on in the real world while he was wallowing somewhere in the afterlife. I swallowed, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the bench. I hated Stan. I really, really did. He was everything I despised in a single person, all crammed together in an annoying way. So why couldn't I bring myself to feel glad about his death? It wasn't as if I was ever close to him. 

Well, I guess that's a lie. Me and him used to be pretty close back in eighth grade, but we'd definitely drifted after he started going after the more popular group of people. I hadn't minded at first, but after a while it had gotten lonely, and I kind of missed having him there to rip on every once and a while. Kyle and Kenny were still around, but everytime I opened my mouth, Kyle would start bitching. That was back in eighth grade, mind you, when he was going through his first _menstruation cycles_, or so I called them. That was also before he got full control of his anger, and he was constantly exploding like a ticking time bomb. 

See, I was originally thinking about Stan, but somehow my thoughts had unwillingly forced me to think about _Kyle_. 

"Fuck." I mumbled, accidentally voicing my frustration. I felt like I was falling dangerously deep in the curse of love, and I had no idea how to get out. Fuck, I'd _killed_ someone for the person I'm apparently obsessing over. The feeling was starting to get so painfully overwhelming, but—

"Cartman?"

I flinched, not realizing that someone was near. I quickly looked around, even going as far to stand up. My eyes darted everywhere, but I couldn't see anyone at all. 

**That's it. You're officially going insane, you psychopathic—**

"Cartman!" 

I stared at nothing for a moment when I realized that I still had my phone to my ear, and Kyle hadn't hung up yet. I opened my mouth to respond, but I felt so _idiotic_ that I was completely speechless. 

"Dude, you're scaring me. Cartman?" 

After a long enough pause, I'd found my voice again. "Jesus, fuckin' Jew. Why are you so worried about me? You act like I'm going to disappear into the void or something." I muttered, shaking my head slightly. I brought a hand down to rub at my numb ass-cheeks, grumbling a few quiet curses to myself. It would take a few hours before the feeling returned, but it's not like I use my ass for anything special anyway. 

"Just stop, okay?" Kyle hissed, but he sounded like he was tearing up. _Again_. I can't even remember the last time I saw Kyle cry. "I have the right to worry, you fucking prick. Stan is missing, and who knows who'll be next." 

I let out a groan, rolling my eyes as I started walking a bit down the side of the road, still scoping the area for an oncoming car. "Whatever. Stan this, Stan that. Even when he's dead you're bitching about him." I snapped, but only then did I realize what a mistake I'd made. I froze where I was, my heart rate picking up. Why had I said that? Why, why, why—why am I such an idiot?

"Excuse—are you serious? Are you—do you actually believe he's _dead_!" Kyle shouted, and it definitely didn't sound like he was asking a question. He sounded like he was about to explode into one of his rages again, and I groaned, knowing what was coming.

"I don't know, Jesus Christ. He could be dead, you never know. Not everyone who gets kidnapped has the opportunity to stay alive." I backed myself up, my voice shaky, although I hoped Kyle was too worked up to jump to any serious conclusions. 

Kyle sounded like he was trying to calm himself down, and I could almost feel the heat traveling through the phone. If I listened hard enough, maybe I'd be able to hear the sizzling of his brains. "He is _not_ dead. He _can't_ be. Fuck you. _Fuck you_."

The venom in his words was almost arousing, but my panic had overcome the rest of my lingering feelings at the moment. "Kyle, seriously—"

"No, just shut the fuck up. I have the urge to tell your mother to _not_ go and pick you up. How would that be?"

"Really? I need—"

"You don't _need_ anything. You can very easily walk yourself home, but your fat fucking ass makes you _so_ fucking lazy."

I was at a loss for words, because it'd been so long since Kyle had spoken to me with such bitterness. It was startling, and for once, I didn't want to argue back. After killing someone, I certainly didn't want to risk losing the person I fought for. 

I stared down at the slush between my shoes, and I kicked at a pile subconsciously. I listened when I heard Kennys voice statically in the background of the phone, which probably meant that he was trying to calm Kyle down as best as he could. They were both emotional wrecks, and I felt like I was headed down the same path. For me, it would just take longer. 

**Oh, just wait until they find out**. 

I saw lights flicker into my peripheral vision, and I looked up to watch as it approached at a fast speed. I was stunned in place, and I'd only realized that it was a single vehicle when it'd slowed down merely ten feet away. I watched as it came to a stop, and I flinched when I heard the abrupt sound of the call ending in my ear. When my mother's car stopped next to the sidewalk, I hesitantly approached and opened the door of the back seat. I didn't make eye contact as I crawled inside, focusing more on the rising tension that surrounded us all. It didn't take long before we were taking off down the road again, my mom making a dangerous U-turn and heading back in the direction we'd come from. 

The rest of the car ride was silent, and the tension in the air was starting to feel almost painful. I was thinking that, surely, someone could slice through it with a knife. I kept catching Kyle staring at me from the front seat, and everytime I made eye contact with him, he'd look away and shake his head. I shrugged and leaned against the door, watching the trees dizzily as they flew past. My hands were cold where they rested against my face, but I couldn't bring myself to care. My ass was frozen, too, but in actuality, I felt as if everything was numb. Any feeling in my body had left, leaving only the shell of a person. 

I felt someone tap my shoulder—I was actually a bit surprised I was able to feel the touch at all—and only slightly turned my head to stare at who had disturbed my tranquility. It was Kenny, looking at me with a complex expression. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but beneath it all, I knew he was trying to mask his hurt. 

"What?" I mumbled, narrowing my eyes at him as he watched me with an eerie expression. Sometimes I felt as if Kenny could read minds, all because of how intimidating he can be at times. It's hard to read his true emotions, and I guess I kind of envied Stans skills to be able to do such thing. 

"Nothing. I'm glad you're okay, man. I don't—If I lost you and him in a matter of a day, I.. don't know. Sorry, just—" Kennys face had slowly morphed into a sad expression, and any intimidation I felt prior to his statement was gone. "Yeah." he finished, never taking his eyes away from my face. 

I cracked a grin, though it was more to ease Kenny instead of worry him. "You really think anyone can lay a finger on me without getting chopped up and fed to their dog?" I snorted, shifting so that I was facing the blonde properly. "That's what I told Kyle, when he said the same thing. You really don't have to worry so much." 

I looked up at the front seat, surprised to find Kyle staring at me with what appeared to be a soft expression. When we met eye contact that time, he managed to genuinely smile, even if it was faint. I felt my breath catch in my throat, and Kenny must have sensed the change in my demeanor. I braced myself for whatever he'd say next, but couldn't bring myself to look away from the ginger sitting shotgun. Kenny grinned, though it wasn't as full as it would've usually been. He nudged me in the shoulder playfully, trying to get my attention. I turned to him with a glare, a bit bummed that I had to break eye contact with Kyle. 

Kenny leaned closer, patting my shoulder kindly this time. I could almost sense his signature personality shining through at that moment, but I knew it wasn't going to last long. "Hey man, stop eyeing Broflovski. It's getting kinda obvious." The blonde snickered quietly, and I had to send Kyle a quick glance to make sure he hadn't overheard. Thankfully it appeared as if he hadn't, because he was turned back to facing the road silently. I wasn't sure if he was discretely listening or not, though, so I couldn't be sure. 

"I'm not. Leave me alone, douchebag." I scoffed, but I couldn't help but curl my lips into a content smirk. Kenny and I shared a quick, silent look, and I had a feeling that he understood what I had hinted at. My expression eventually turned cold, and something flashed behind Kennys eyes. Fear, maybe? My gut lurched at the thought, but I only shook my head at him. I mouthed the words 'Don't even dare try to tell him'. 

Kenny nodded briskly, turning away and returning his attention back to whatever he'd been doing before. 

The rest of the ride was silent again, but in a comfortable way. The tension seemed to ease, and it only felt like a fraction of a second before my mom was pulling into the driveway to our house. Kenny and Kyle appeared to be content with staying, but I'd suddenly felt a surge of extreme nausea. I didn't want to let them inside, but I didn't want to appear suspicious. I swallowed down my anxiety, opening the door and quickly jumping out. Kyle followed suit, and eventually, Kenny did the same. 

I had to force myself to rush up the driveway before approaching the front door, biting the inside of my cheek in anticipation and acting as subtly as I could. I briefly flinched when I felt a hand drop onto my shoulder, and my head turned immediately to—once again—see Kenny standing there with a calm look on his face. Or maybe he was hiding his feelings again, I didn't know. 

"Why so jumpy? Relax, nobodys gonna snatch you up with us around." He teased, and all I could do was return a falsely confident grin. At least he wasn't acting suspicious, so I found that to be a relief. 

My mom had been in the process of unlocking the door when I finally found the strength of my voice, and I turned to look at Kyle for a quick second. He furrowed his brows when he caught my gaze, but I glanced back towards my mother before he could say anything. 

"Guys. It's—" I stuffed my hands into my pocket, fumbling to grab something. Once I'd gotten a grip, I pulled out my phone, clicking the power button to check the time. One thirteen. "It's only one. What are we gonna do all day inside? Video games sound lame right now."

"Dude, it's freezing outside." Kyle was, of course, the first to argue. His eyes narrowed slightly, and I could already assume he wasn't too happy about the change of plans. I shrugged and kicked the damp, slightly dead grass, waiting for an answer. 

"Yeah, and? I don't want to be inside today." I replied, trying to act as casual as possible as I spoke. It may be easier to keep them away then I thought. 

"I'm with Cartman. As fun as video games sound, I kinda wanna be outside. We should go into the mountains like we planned to do earlier." Kenny quipped, and I was extremely relieved for his positive input. "..To, you know. Look." he added, his shoulders dropping slightly. 

Kyle scoffed, shaking his head. Majority rules, and he knew that. "Fine. But if any of us end up sick, don't blame me. I'm blaming it on Cartman if we do—it was his idea." he bickered, turning around and starting towards the car again.

Kenny and I followed, and I waved my mother off when I heard her call out a "Stay safe, and don't stay out too long!" 

Kenny sent me an dull but excited grin, and I couldn't help but return it with a smug smirk, but for a completely different reason. 

I'd managed to keep them from entering my house, which was the main problem I was facing at the moment. I really needed to get Stans body out of there before someone found it, and I couldn't do that if Kyle and Kenny were there. 

Either way, I saved myself once again. 

I'd say I've been doing pretty well with the whole murder situation, and I can't help but feel proud of myself about it. 

At this point, Stan would stay missing, I would continue life as normally as usual, I'd get Kyle to myself, and we'd all forget that the black-haired hippie had _ever_ existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gghhh, hi. I've planned on updating once a month, maybe sooner than that. It seems to be an easier schedule for me to follow by, but I'm also going to have quite a bit of extra time to write up a few more chapters. 
> 
> I don't have much to say for this one. A bit of a lazy chapter, mostly just a fill-in. next one will kind of work the same, but the one after that may get a bit interesting. 
> 
> thanks for sticking with me this long, and I hope to keep pumping out somewhat decent content for this fic
> 
> p.s., I have so many unfinished oneshots that I'm hoping I'll get to finish and upload for you all to read! at this moment I have three, maybe four. so, make sure to keep an eye out. 
> 
> p.p.s, the longer I work on this the more I hate it because of how inconsistent and bad it is. seriously, I swear I'm a better writer than this.


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